


Ikigai

by peachiinari



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Deaf Character, Deaf Gon Freecs, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, HxHHoliday2020, KilluGonHolidayPresent, Love, M/M, No Angst, No Plot/Plotless, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachiinari/pseuds/peachiinari
Summary: There’s a reason for being, when it’s Killua and Gon together.It grows and expands in his chest, dripping down his sternum and into the monarch tower of butterflies in his stomach. Winter brings with it a warmth that no heater could compare to; there's a certain warmth to waking up every morning in Gon's arms, to their legs tangled, arms holding each other tight.And perhaps, Killua chooses today to be the day he stops running from the “something-more” he wants, too.✧((or: Killua and Gon have been dating for five years, and Killua really just wants to marry his deaf boyfriend.))
Relationships: Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 27
Kudos: 126
Collections: KilluGon "A Gift From Me To You" Holiday Event





	Ikigai

**Author's Note:**

> Ikigai  
> 生き甲斐 (n.) ; a reason for being.
> 
> Rated T for infrequent swearing.

It’s warm.

It’s warm, and there’s a weight pressing down against Killua’s chest—a breath that comes in and out slowly: comfortable and at peace. Slowly, in and out, in and out. And gently, slipping further from his restful state, Killua becomes aware of the tangle of limbs; the arm which is wrapped around his bare waist, his muscle-tee shirt wrinkled up, exposing the skin of his stomach.

It’s warm.

So, so warm.

He opens his eyes. Flutters them open, and suppresses a yawn from escaping him, chest expanding and muscles tensing, thighs trembling and toes curling from the force of his wake. A shift in the sheets. The white comforter falls further off. 

The bedroom is bathed in a warm light—tinted from the morning winter sun. And Killua can tell it’s chilly outside; the window is frosted, and faintly, despite just having awoken, despite his blurry vision adjusting to the light, he can see the small pieces of snow falling outside their apartment window.

Gon stirs.

It grabs Killua’s attention quickly. He lets his alabaster hand run through Gon’s hair—feels the coarse, spiky hair pass through his fingers seamlessly. Over and over, until the feeling of his hair against the pads and skin folds of his fingers becomes odd to the touch.

He lets his eyes wander down, admiring the sight of Gon’s cheek pressed against his chest, and feels a smile work its way onto his lips from the pure adoration that overcomes him. Gon is sleeping blissfully, lips parted just slightly, eyes shut, his lashes brushing delicately against his cheeks.

In this light, Killua can see the freckles which adorn Gon’s skin, splattered onto his face like paint on canvas, every point purposeful.

Their legs—Gon’s thicker ones, and Killua’s leaner, longer ones—are tangled together. Gon is flush against Killua, hiked against his waist. And Killua can say with confidence, that despite dating Gon for five years now, absolutely nothing will ever remove the absolute love that overcomes him every morning, waking up in his arms.

It makes his heart swell—steals his breath and flusters him into a quiet equanimity.

Breathing in, Killua leans forward and presses his lips against Gon’s forehead in a quiet kiss: lingers there, for a few seconds. Shuts his eyes and basks in the love of it all, all the while a grin forms on his lips, heart beating steadily within the confines of his chest.

Killua brings his hand to rest against Gon’s shoulder blade and thumbs the cloth there. Runs over it, again and again. Loves feeling Gon’s warmth against his, loves Gon’s form against his. Loves being here, with him, in their tiny apartment in upscale York New, under the festive holiday lights and winter season.

And Killua can feel exactly when Gon wakes up—when Gon drifts from sleep into a state of being, when his form pulls a little from Killua’s chest, and his fingers tighten in their grip around his waist. Tighten, and release. Eyelashes flutter, blink once, then twice, and Gon’s brows furrow before he shifts his head up and looks up at Killua with doe eyes, a dopey smile filling his face and bunching his cheeks.

It makes a smile break on Killua’s face too.

Carefully, Gon leans forward, tilting his head to press a chaste kiss to Killua’s lips.

It’s chaste, pillowy soft, and every bit lovely. It’s drenched in as much love as they could muster with their combined hearts.

“Kih—Kiruah,” Gon says, his voice muddled with sleep, two tones too high, an odd lilt to it. “Good morning, _cariño.”_

Killua chuckles; says the words slowly: “Good morning, _corazón.”_

Gon stares at his lips, eyes focused intently, internalizing the words, before looking up at him with a grin. A laugh bubbles past his lips, a bit too loud for the quietness of the room, but it doesn’t disrupt the comfortable silence. If anything, it fills it with more love and care—and Killua is sure that Gon’s laughter could melt snow and keep away the cold if he was so inclined to try.

Another kiss; Killua presses another kiss to Gon’s mouth, and lingers. Steals his breath, just a little, before pulling away.

Not two seconds later, Gon is adjusting himself to lean over Killua’s body, draping his knees over each side of Killua’s hips. One more kiss, one more kiss—Killua can practically hear Gon chanting it. Velvet, soft lips embracing his own, sweet and honey-coated.

Nimble hands reach to wrap around Gon’s waist, pulling him down closer, cuddling them together, knees knocking and ankles touching, before Killua presses yet another kiss to Gon’s jaw, and then the corner of his mouth, and then his nose. His cheek, and the corner of his eye, and—

—Gon bumps their foreheads together, nuzzles in and breathes a giggle, and Killua can’t help but grasp Gon’s face in his palms and look at him like he holds the world.

Can’t help but let his heart fill and expand further.

_Further, further_

_Continue to fill the chamber._

_Don’t stop._

Gosh, how can he stop loving Gon like this—Gon who is simple and so kind, lovable to a fault.

How could he ever not love Gon as much as he does, when his eyes smile and turn into happy crescents, smiling wide, cheeks flustered a light tinge of pink, coating his olive skin a more gorgeous color. And for just a moment, for just a bit, Gon hides his face in the crevice between Killua’s neck and shoulder.

For just a moment, before Killua taps his waist with two fingers—his index and middle finger—and has Gon pulling away to look at him.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

Gon stares at his lips. Internalizes the words in his head.

“Breakfast?”

Killua nods, rubbing his thumb against the swell of Gon’s side, where his skin muffin-tops from the cotton shorts, soothing it subconsciously.

A hum, and then Gon is shrugging sheepishly, sticking out his tongue.

“Anything is fine,” he says, his words slurred and off-kilter.

Killua’s heart swells.

With practiced ease, Killua removes his hands from Gon’s waist, bringing it up to sign a longer sentence, moving his hands easily between words and expressions—clear and confident. Gon’s eyes flicker down to his hands.

“Why don’t we check what’s in the kitchen,” he signs, “and then we can get ready for our date?”

Gon smiles, and nods. “Okay.”

Up, up. Gon pushes off Killua’s body, fisting the sheets with a yawn, keeping his head down and thread rubbing at his eyes. He sits at the edge of the mattress, running a hand down his face and reaching for the small little device on the nightstand.

The cochlear device, and its charging battery, the black device blinking a steady green light—Killua watches against the headboard of the bed as Gon’s fingers prod it off the charging station and insert it into the device, bringing it up to his left ear. The magnet clicks into place against his head, and a few seconds later, Gon is smiling wide.

“What’re you waiting there for!” He signs along with the uttered words—the sound of his voice clearer now.

Killua chuckles, placing his palms flat against the mattress and pushing. The mattress springs squeak in complaint, and the entirety of the bed dips on one side under Killua’s weight, lifting back up once the pressure is off and his feet are touching the cold, hardwood floor.

Fuck, the floor is _cold._

But Gon seems to have no trouble with it, stepping ever-so-gracefully onto it, intertwining their fingers and stringing him along, out of their bedroom and into the hall where their bathroom is, despite Killua’s thin grumbles of discomfort towards the frozen ice flooring.

Flick the switch on, open the faucet, squeeze the toothpaste onto the brush.

They brush their teeth in silence, looking into the mirror.

Killua’s hair is a wild, unkempt mess. His bangs are disarrayed, flying up, down, right, and left. And it’s all flat on another side—the back of his hair is flat. Vivid blue eyes, pale skin. Gon’s hand runs gingerly through Killua’s hair, brushing the white tufts into something more kempt, before entangling their hands again, and continuing his focus on his teeth.

Black hair tickles his jaw, and Killua can see Gon’s reflection resting his head against his shoulder, just slightly—just barely. A quiet lean that has their shoulders brushing in this early morning: it’s all so endearing. Killua could never get tired of this.

Spit the toothpaste out, rinse with water, shut the faucet.

The living room is organized, the coffee table neat and the pillows against the couch propped carefully. They cross it, and while Killua steps into the kitchen to open the blinds there, Gon is maneuvering past the couch and leaning over the vase of plants to pull back the curtains in the living room. White light shines in, and the plants almost seem to stretch and awaken at the prospect of life.

If Killua asked, he was sure Gon would give him a very in-depth explanation as to why it happens.

_And he would love every bit of it._

Killua can hear the pitter-patter of Gon’s soles against the wood, walking barefoot into the kitchen.

There’s some batter for pancakes and waffles in one of the cupboards—Killua shuts it after grabbing it. And the fridge holds some fruits and bacon that they can cook: a can of whipped cream sits brand new and untouched in one of the interior shelves.

He shuts the door with more force than necessary, accidentally, and it has Gon stepping faster, peeking the corner of the kitchen.

“Are you alright? What was that?” he asks, and Killua shakes his head, laughing.

“Closed the fridge too hard, sorry.”

Gon stares, and then chuckles, stepping into their cramped kitchen, maneuvering past Killua, bodies brushing.

“What do we have?” he peers Killua’s shoulder at the ingredients.

A lame gesture—Killua makes a face, boredly listing the items. “Some batter, fruits, and bacon. We have to go to the grocery store next week.”

“Why don't we have a competition?”

“For breakfast?”

Gon grins and nods. “Yeah! Whoever makes the better breakfast wins.”

A smile forms on Killua’s own face, and he grins, opening the box of batter and grabbing the eggs.

“You’re on,” he signs, “I’ll make you the best holiday breakfast ever!”

“Not possible!” Gon sticks his tongue out, reaching for the waffle maker against the wall and plugging the cord into the electrical socket, “I’ll make you the better breakfast!”

Killua snorts, grabbing the skillet and plopping it on the stove. For a moment, he pauses, and stares at the waffle maker Gon is tinkering with. An idea crosses his head, and Killua sets down the cooking oil.

“Gon.”

Gon doesn’t look over.

He didn’t register the sound.

Killua taps the counter, and Gon startles slightly at the vibration, looking over with wide eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll trade you—pan for the waffle maker.”

Consideration flashes in Gon’s eyes. He stares down at the pan, and then the waffle maker, and then up at Killua. Deep in thought, thinking. And then, a nod. He steps away from the waffle maker, and Killua steps forward towards it. There’s an awkward maneuver they both have to do to get around each other, the kitchen is too small for two people, but Killua doesn’t particularly mind.

Plus, Gon never allows the opportunity of being a little minx go to waste, letting their hands brush together—fingers skimming—and Killua has to fight back the urge to not hold his hand and forego the damn waffle maker.

Gon giggles, hiding a smile behind his hand as he grabs a bowl and cracks an egg with his other hand.

Killua bites back his own smile as well, a flush on his cheeks.

Halfway into cooking his waffle—the batter dyed a neon green from what remained of their Halloween and Thanksgiving cookies—Killua can feel eyes on him as he dices the fruits, and he looks over, catching Gon’s stare. His eyes are zoned in on his plate, and Killua makes a sound of indignation.

“Aht!” he shouts, and Gon wheezes a laugh at Killua’s reaction. “No looking! This is a competition, mind your own plate!”

“I just wanted to see!” Gon pouts.

He doesn’t even bother concealing what he was doing.

_Sneaky brat._

Killua points the spatula at Gon, deadpanning. “You’re not slick. C’mon, turn around.”

_He needs to make the bacon._

“Around?”

The waffle maker beeps.

“Yeah, around. It’s a competition,” he repeats, “and a surprise. So, _dale.”_

At hearing the small Spanish slip out from Killua’s mouth, Gon gives a loud laugh, waving his hands in surrender.

Quickly, Killua opens the top of the waffle maker, removing the golden-toasted food from its place and carefully setting it on the ceramic plate. “Ah, but before you turn, make me two slices of bacon, thanks.”

He doesn’t even look up, but from the corner of his eye he can see Gon make a face, and grumble—though it holds no malice.

The food fries—Killua can hear the sizzling of the bacon, just as much as he can smell the waffles and bacon and syrup: the diced fruits and whipped cream. Gon is shaking the whipped cream can, once, twice, three times, before the familiar sound of the fizz fills his ears.

And it doesn’t stop.

_Just how much is he putting on?_

Killua restrains himself from looking over but speaks up regardless.

“Leave some for the rest of us!”

Gon doesn’t hear it. He knows, because Gon doesn’t falter or reply.

That’s fine.

Killua smiles to himself.

And something clinks against the countertop, grabbing Killua’s attention.

It’s the can of whipped cream and two slices of bacon. It’s sizzling, Killua can see the heat, so he moves to grab the whipped cream first. The waffle is already cut into four triangles, layers one atop the other: and so he presses down on the nozzle of the can to make little white dots everywhere, decorating it with a different colored fruit.

Slices one of the slices of bacon—puts it under the tree waffle design as the tree stump, and layers another piece horizontal to that one as the floor. The star is a piece of pineapple, the tree ornaments: strawberry, blackberry, blueberry.

With steady hands, Killua drizzles the maple syrup in the shape of a tinsel garland; drapes it over the fruits and waffle in cursive W’s. Careful, careful—steady.

“Done!” Gon laughs and Killua hears him set the pan in the sink.

A smile graces Killua’s lips as he clicks the bottle of syrup shut.

“I finished too.”

“Let me see,” Gon says quickly, trying to peer over Killua, excitement coating his voice.

Killua laughs. “We need a grand reveal, c’mon, grab yours, we’ll place it on the counter at the same time.”

Gon nods, shuffling to grab his plate.

“One,”

“Two,”

“Three!” They both say, setting down the plates.

And, oh...

Gon had made Santa Claus—a warmly cooked pancake, with a banana beard and eyes little chocolate chips. His signature red hat is all whipped cream, overlaid with caramelized strawberries—so that’s why he’d been using the whipped cream for so long. And the bacon strips are laid under the banana beard, maybe… maybe as a scarf?

“I wasn’t sure where to put it.”

Killua looks at him. Looks at the bacon. Looks back at Gon.

He bursts out laughing, fingers trembling, form shaking, as he reaches forward and grabs Gon by the waist, pulling him close—their chests press together, and Killua is leaning down to catch Gon’s lips in a deep kiss. Gon melts into his touch with a smile, giggling, shutting his eyes, and moving his arms to drape them around Killua’s neck.

Alabaster hands resting against Gon's waist, thrumming the skin, soothing the spot with his thumbs, Killua takes a few steps back until the small of his back is hitting the counter. _String Gon along, pull him close, kiss him again._

And again.

This time, a feather-light kiss. Gentle and adorned with love.

Killua pulls away, staring at Gon’s fluttered-shut eyes, and he’s so close that he can count each individual lash. Slowly, Gon’s eyes open, and Killua moves his hands to caress Gon’s cheeks; run the pad of his fingers across the supple, freckled skin. Watch it dip under the pressure of his own paler digits. The tips of his fingers brush against the cochlear device: the metal cools his blushing fingers.

A smile fills both their faces—and Gon’s melts into a big smile, cheeks bunching up, skin flustering, eyes turning into crescents.

“You’re amazing,” Killua says slowly, enunciating the words as clearly as he can, despite Gon’s hearing aid working.

He wants him to feel the words, read them off his lips.

“You know that? You’re every bit amazing.” Killua’s own skin flushes at the words—his hands tremble, he feels his breath stolen and smile twitch and he’s so, so in love. His heart can’t beat any faster.

The expression on Gon’s face is worth the sight every time—the smile which melts into a pure love, the blush that spreads further down, his own hands, which come up and pull down on the fold of Killua’s elbows, until Killua can’t feel the warmth of Gon’s face, but instead feels the warmth and tightness of his hand: the security of it all.

Gon leans closer.

“I think you’re every bit amazing too, _cariño.”_ The warmth of his breath is a gentle lull, a siren’s lullaby, right before Gon is pressing his lips into Killua’s again.

Killua breaks the kiss with a grin. “Our _amazing_ breakfast might go cold if we keep kissing instead of eating.”

A laugh, light and airy and perfect. “Well then, we should eat—we’re stalling our date as well.”

Before Gon can, Killua grabs the plates with one hand, and entwines his other hand with Gon’s, leading him towards the kitchen table.

He makes sure to turn his head at Gon as he walks.

  
  
“Oh, so now you’re concerned about the date being delayed?”

The plates get set against the table. They clink against the wooden grain.

“Kissing you is my second favorite thing, dates would be my third.”

His lips twitch. “Oh? And what’s your most favorite thing?”

The chairs scrape against the table as Killua pulls them out.

“You already know the answer to that.”

Killua laughs, and leans into Gon’s space, surpassing Gon’s height and looking down, just a little.

“I like hearing you say it.”

Another kiss.

Gon presses his lips against Killua’s—chaste and sweet.

“You are.” Gon pulls away with a smile, and gently nudges Killua’s shoulder in the direction of the chair. “Now sit, I want to eat and get ready for our date. I’m sure the food is soggy already.”

Killua obliges, taking his seat across Gon, waiting for Gon to take his first bite before even lifting the fork and digging it into his Santa-pancake. It’s easy, to just lay his chin against his palm and watch Gon eat to his heart's content. And it’s easy to forget that Gon couldn’t always speak this easily or freely—

—He’s been making sure strides with his speech therapy, no doubt with Kite’s help and his own.

Sometimes, it’s easy to tell that Gon struggles with speaking: the words come too slowly, or they sound a little off-pitch—their enunciation odd, utterance quivering. It’s especially obvious when he doesn’t have his hearing aid on: when he can’t hear the volume of his voice over the cochlear device, and can’t register sounds.

Killua loves it all the same.

And he doesn’t dare ever forget or insult the strides in progress Gon has made in their five years together.

They eat in a comfortable silence, matched only by the sounds of muffled outdoor traffic and the rustling of the house plants, before Gon is speaking up.

“It’s soggy,” he says, and brings up the fork to his mouth, taking a bite of the clearly-soggy waffle.

The green has turned a muddy brown from the syrup, drooping just a little.

“Guess we took a little too long,” Killua says with a grin.

“Well, I’m sure Santa Claus appreciated the delay, you’re tearing into his face not-so-kindly.”

Killua huffs, looking down at his plate, and indeed: Santa Claus is missing half his hat, his bread separated from his face and his eyes missing. Surely, it’s a grim sight if you thought about it too harshly, and Killua is sure that this must kill the jolly red man’s vibes if he was looking into their apartment for delivering gifts.

“You practically dismantled the Christmas tree too, y’know?”

Gon pouts. “A necessary sacrifice.”

Killua bursts out laughing, hunching over with a force that makes his shoulders tremble. Gon is smiling too, twirling his fork and looking at Killua.

“I guess we can both agree to that.”

They finish up soon enough, scraping the plates clean: Killua stands and grabs the plates and kitchen utensils—Gon cleans the table. Together, they wrap up everything just as it was: set the ceramic plates in the drying rack, redo the table and fix the tablecloth, reposition the mats.

It’s fast, easy, and comfortable.

And as Killua re-enters the dining area again, he pulls Gon away by his waist, stopping him from fiddling incessantly with the table—spins them gently as to not dizzy him, and Gon leans in, holding Killua’s forearms, hiding his face in Killua’s chest and laughing loudly.

“C’mon, let’s get dressed so we can go on our date.”

Gon looks up with a smile. “You’re excited about this date.”

A small frown crosses Killua’s features. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason,” Gon giggles, “It’s just cute. Today is really nice.”

Lips press against Gon’s forehead, and then Killua is using the hand on Gon’s waist as leverage—pulling him towards the bedroom and opening their closet with minimal effort. It slides open to their widely contrasting sets of clothing. Killua with his minimal, monochromatic styles: blacks, browns, navys, and whites, all solid colored. Gon with his wild patterns and hues and varying sets of comfortable versus blinding: a cashmere sweater, straight pants, neon blouses and printed shirts.

“Dress warmly, it’s thirty-five out,” Gon chides, and Killua deadpans.

“I always dress warmly, you take your own advice.”

A hanger comes out of the closet, and then another.

“It was once.”

“You practically gave Nanika and Alluka a fright, wearing a hoodie in ninety-degree weather.”

“You’re dating an islander, we do hot and humid, not these popsicle temperatures.”

Killua snorts. “And yet Nanika still frantically signed if you were alright.”

Gon laughs, pulling off his shirt and slipping off the shorts, and Killua does the same.

“Nanika didn’t even need to hear the conversation, she saw me and flipped.”

“I’m sure if speech therapy would’ve worked better for her, she would’ve fully fretted over you and your _questionable_ choices.”

Switch into a black turtleneck, pull on the beige long coat and black pants—it’s ripped at his knees, but Killua has always been particularly acclimated to the cold, and it’s his favorite weather of the seasons.

“Hey!”

They both laugh.

On the other hand, Gon practically swaddles himself in a body-clad undershirt, and then his cream cashmere, and _then_ a beige blazer, followed by black pants and the thick scarf Killua bought him last Christmas. It’s always endearing, and a little funny, to see Gon swaddle himself so warmly for the cold, despite the fact that he’s lived in York New for the better half of his life.

Islander blood runs thick and hard.

And he would never complain, seeing Gon’s cheeks pool out from the wool scarf—he looks cute, wrapped up like that. Killua has half the mind to tug on the ends of the fabric just to press a kiss to Gon’s nose.

The keys jingle in Gon’s hand, a clinking sound that has Killua scrambling for his necklace and watch.

Gon smiles. “Ready to go, _Ki-llu-ah_?”

It’s always nice to hear his name fall so prettily from Gon’s lips.

Killua reaches forward and intertwines their fingers.

“Yeah, idiot, let’s go.” 

The mall is packed to its brim—with tourists in York New for the holiday season, and with families last-minute shopping; Killua and Gon pass several teens running around with a camera in their hands, tugging along their partners for pictures next to the Christmas decorations.

Bustling, positive energy.

It had been a testament to how busy the outdoors would be—outside the bubble of their cozy, small apartment. Columbus Circle had bigger crowds than usual, as more as you can get in York New in late mid-December. The fourteen-minute ride to Garden Mall was riddled with passengers holding bundles upon bundles of gift bags, chatter low among the hum of the rails.

And Killua can’t help but tighten his fingers around Gon’s—grasp him tightly with a smile and small laugh.

Gon’s hand squeezes back, and he’s looking at Killua with such kindness swimming in his eyes, Killua wants to sink further into its depths.

“Where do you want to start?” Killua asks, eyeing the different paths they could take.

“Both will end up at the center,” Gon says, “so it’s whatever you want.”

Killua huffs. _“You_ decide, _corazón.”_

A hum and furrow of brows—Gon is deep in thought, cheeks puffing into a pout that Killua wants to kiss—and then he’s pulling Killua left, down past the glittering red decorations and fake snow piling the small artificial trees. Ribbons that string along the roof, and they’re both tilting their heads up to get a better look at it all.

“It’s always so nice here on Christmas.”

They keep walking, maneuvering past the passersby.

“That’s the only time this mall is any good.”

Gon playfully tugs on his arm in penance, giving a snort. “Don’t say that!”

Killua shrugs, smiling. “I said what I said.”

Past Hanger, and Clothes Minded, and Berry Republic—they eye the windows, pausing sometimes to point and probe at the glass at certain outfits. When Gon sees the ridiculous neon turtleneck paired with a pair of khaki straights and loafers, he folds over in a laugh that’s all too loud and uncontrolled, and it makes a smile blossom on Killua’s own face, pulling him closer to him.

Confetti lines the waxed tile floors, and the closer they get to the center of the mall, the bolder and more eccentric the decorations get: bigger trees, dressed lavishly in ornate balls that rival the size of Killua’s hands, or huge bows and ribbons that can be seen dangling from the top of the fifth floor—candy cane arches and huge present boxes.

Gon pulls Killua towards one of the empty arches, reaching for the phone in his back pocket and swiping towards the camera, a wide grin on his face. They flag down a person in the crowd—a lady who is kind enough to “snap a quick pic”, and she takes a couple of photographs.

When Gon gets his phone back, thumbing through the pictures, the grin grows, and a giggle escapes him, leaning into Killua’s space, his shoulder brushing against Killua’s chest. Without thinking, Killua brings his arm around Gon’s shoulder: pulls him closer.

“She caught the one of us smiling.”

It’s true—the photo is zoomed in, catching just barely the candy cane arch they’re under, but the result is all the more beautiful, with Killua and Gon’s fingers intertwined, pressed together, foreheads touching as they give big laughs from their previous antics.

“We’re printing these.”

“Hm?” Gon says, looking up at him.

Killua gives a small chuckle.

“We’re printing these,” he repeats, watching the way Gon’s eyes stare at his lips.

And then, his face lights up, and Gon grins. “Yeah! C’mon, there’s still more window shopping to do before we get to the center of the mall.”

“Excited to see the North Pole Town they set up?”

Killua makes sure Gon can see him speaking.

Gon nods, running his thumb soothingly on Killua’s dorsal.

“We can buy some stuff, too,” he says as they continue their walk.

The path twists and turns, a subtle shift in the category of shops—where clothing stores become scarce and more prominent becomes the jewelry. Rings, hoops, bracelets, necklaces: beautifully displayed against the glass windows. Watches which adorn the ceramic white mannequin hands.

Gon stops suddenly in his steps, falling behind Killua just a little, and Killua startles, looking back.

He’s staring at a set of rings, delicately decorated—a beautiful golden color.

And Gon’s face is telling—his eyes are wide, lips a little apart, his breath clearly bated. His hand comes up, fingers twitching, just narrowly restraining from touching the glass window, and Killua’s face colors a crimson red at the implication of the rings—of Gon’s _actions._

Marriage—

—Marriage, right?

_That’s what the rings mean: a life where Killua can call Gon his husband, officially. On paper._

Killua hears his ears ring above the chatter of the crowd, feeling warm all over, and there’s this tug on his heart that shakes him to his core. His gut erupts with butterflies, goosebumps spreading across his forearms, and the corner of his lips twitch at the overwhelming implications of it all.

Should he tease him?

Would that be insensitive?

They would always tease each other over dinner: Gon chiding Killua's workaholic tendencies in the studio, Killua biting back with some remark about Gon’s work on the field, being mother nature’s son and all. Always running around examining the landscape, typing away reports.

But this is different.

And maybe it deserves a conversation later, maybe tonight, maybe not, because Killua has a ring sitting in their drawer, buried beneath the socks and boxer briefs, in its little black velvet box, and—

—A hand is gripping his own, fingers clenching and nails digging into the skin a little too tightly, a little too uncomfortably, and Killua is snapped from his thoughts to see Gon flustered red, cheeks dusted crimson and lips pressed together.

“Let’s—” Gon struggles to find the words, “Let’s get going, to the center of the mall. For more pictures.”

His voice is uncharacteristically pitched, teetering on cracking. Killua nods, and allows Gon to drag him down another path—straying further from the jewelry stores and into the mall center, where pop-up stores stand tall, made of flimsy materials. Fake snow; candy canes. The smell of food and peppermint.

Gon’s grip loosens, a little.

And while his cheeks are still flushed a red that rivals the stripes of candy canes, the smile that blesses his lips elates Killua’s own heart, squeezes it tightly, coils around his lungs.

There’s a Christmas tree, standing big and tall next to the small stands—larger than the rest they’d seen scattered around the mall. Decorated lavishly, with gold tinsel garland and speckles of fake snow spray, lights on and dazzling, huge ornaments hanging from its monstrous height.

Killua is sure that the tree itself reaches _at least_ the third floor of the mall.

“It’s a real tree,” Gon says, pointing at the individual branches. “I can tell from the lemony scent and the branches, it’s a concolor fir tree.”

Killua chuckles. “How you can smell anything over the peppermint and chocolate is a mystery to me.”

Gon grins, cheeks bunching and eyes crinkling into crescents. “It’s the ecologist in me.”

Playfully, Killua tugs on their intertwined hands and Gon’s shoulder bumps into Killua’s chest. 

“Yeah, I think that just comes with the territory of being mother nature’s favorite.”

A laugh bubbles past Gon’s lips, and he leans into Killua’s space.

“We should take a picture,” he whispers warmly, breath heating Killua’s skin, and Killua smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to Gon’s forehead.

They flag down a man with two kids who’s willing to take the picture for them—he obliges their request with a throaty laugh, signaling for his kids to stand near him, snapping a quick picture of Gon leaning into Killua on the tip of his toes and pressing a feather-light kiss to lips.

And Killua takes the phone back with a nod and thank-you, pocketing the device, intertwining his fingers with Gon’s.

“The stands remind me of Whale Island,” Gon says.

Killua looks over, running his thumb soothingly on the dorsal of Gon’s hand. “Really?”

Gon hums. “I can’t remember it that well, but Abe used to say we lived in a really small town, and it was mainly stands and markets like this.”

A chuckle. “Minus the cheap snow, I’d assume.”

Gon giggles, tugging on Killua’s hand. “Ki-llu-ah!”

They browse the stands in idle silence, before Gon picks up a pack of peppermint and hot chocolate powders, tapping it against Killua’s chest in gesture.

“Want it?”

Gon hums, handing the package to the cashier. “Dunno what you want for dinner, but I’m craving sweet drinks.” He forks out his wallet, ignoring Killua’s card.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one with the sweet-tooth.”

“Sometimes switching it up is nice, right?” Gon says cheekily.

“I’m not sure that peppermint drinks mix very nicely with steak and rice.”

Gon side-eyes him, grabbing the gift bag from the cashier with a quick, grateful smile.

“Anything can mix nicely, you’re just prissy.”

“Prissy—” Killua snorts. “Some of us don’t have stomachs made of iron, _corazón_ _.”_

“Sounds like natural selection to me,” Gon hums, “C’mon _cariño,_ Build-A-Bear is right there.”

True to his words, the store is right across the stands, just a little empty—surprisingly.

“Rich coming from the ecologist,” Killua mutters dryly—but the words hold no malice.

And Killua lets Gon string him along, watching with mirth in his eyes as Gon smiles gently at one of the little girls standing in line, waiting for her teddy bear to be stuffed. A worker greets them, and Killua nods at them in acknowledgment, letting Gon pull him towards the section with all the unstuffed animals.

He picks up a cat first, and then a fawn.

Pauses.

Stares at them both.

And gnaws on his lip.

Killua arches a brow in question.

“Careful, or you’ll start steaming from your ears.”

Gon’s pout deepens. And he’s signing to himself—Killua can make out the words “fawn, or Killua”, and it squeezes a flush onto his face, painting his cheeks red and choking him of his breath.

“You should—” Gon pauses, squinting at the stuffed animals. “You should get an animal too.”

Killua huffs. “I wanted this date to focus on you, don’t worry about me.”

Gon’s eyes flicker over before he fully turns to face Killua.

“This date is for the both of us,” he says, “plus, I think my plushie would get lonely without a friend, right?”

Momentarily, just for a second, Gon’s hands brush against Killua’s own—fingers skimming—and fuck, Killua really is weak for Gon. He sighs, giving in _so_ easily, the way he knows Gon is gleeful about, and looks at the wide range of bears for sale. There are recurring colors, some similar patterns, and not much range.

Some sponsored animals.

Others are plain.

And then Killua’s eyes land on the single green frog remaining in the pile.

He doesn’t hesitate, alabaster hands reaching forward and grabbing the plushie firmly.

Warmly, he thinks of Gon—ignoring the soft feeling which covers his entire body like stuffing—and holds the frog to his chest dearly, looking over just in time to see Gon place back the cat in favor of the fawn. He gives a chuckle.

“I lost to a fawn?”

Gon flusters.

“Well—red deer are endangered, y’know? And the habitat they’re surrounded by is being depleted in large portions—” Gon rambles, “and they’re hunted for the red velvet in their antlers, and some people think that the velvet has healing properties, this is just a small tribute to give to the red deer, ‘cause this fawn plushie looks like the offspring when young.”

He starts to sign while he talks, working through the motions quickly succinctly, and Killua could listen to him go on for years about his love for nature.

Killua steps forward, snaking his hands around Gon’s waist to pull him for a quick kiss.

Gon’s lips quirk up, and his eyes hold so much love, that for a second Killua forgets they’re standing in the middle of a children’s store.

“Let’s go stuff these little bitches.”

A playful smack on his forearm. “ _Cariño!”_

Killua snorts. He nudges Gon while they stand in line. “You’re smiling too, it was funny, don’t deny it.”

But Gon doesn’t let him have any pleasure in his clear win—turning away to hide the smile worming its way out of the confines of his bitten lips. The effort is appreciated. Killua is just a natural comedian.

From where he stands, Killua can see the hearing aid against the strands of Gon’s black hair—the little black circle that sticks against his scalp, and the hook around his ear that blinks a steady green. Killua smiles.

And it’s not like there are many people in the store in the first place—they’re in front of the stuffing machine with a person from staff in no time, picking the hardness of the plushies and blowing into the small, padded hearts with grins that make Killua feel like he’s a teenager again.

“Do you want to get them matching outfits?”

Killua looks at Gon.

“So they’re dating?” Killua asks smugly, and Gon chuckles, holding the fawn close to his chest.

“I don’t see what the problem is, why not?”

They walk through the individual islands of clothes.

Killua looks over, watching Gon as he carefully skims his fingers through some of the tiny clothing.

“I thought the ecologist would be the one to be ethically against interspecies breeding.”

Gon covers the fawn’s ears. “Well don’t be weird about it!”

They share a laugh. Killua pauses in front of a small clothing set: overalls and a turtleneck. There are a few variations to the turtlenecks, but he picks up the white one along with the brown overalls.

“What do you think?”

A nod. Gon’s fingers dance along the different colors until he’s picking out the baby blue turtleneck, along with the white overalls. They take the woven clothes off the flimsy paper racks and tug it onto the plushies—albeit with a bit of struggle. Killua admires his own handiwork, the green hue of the frog contrasting nicely against the white and brown.

It’s a nice aesthetic—

—that Gon mocks.

Just a little.

“He looks like the character from Toad and Frog.”

Killua deadpans. “You mean Frog and Toad.”

Gon grins, leaning closer to Killua and setting his head against his shoulder.

  
“Same difference.”

_Uh-huh…_

“You’ll hurt his feelings, he takes after you, y’know?”

Gon’s hand entwines with Killua’s as they walk to the checkout machine.

“He’s a tough frog, he won’t let it define him. C’mon, let’s pay, I’d hate to be out after dark.”

Killua glances at his watch.

“Oh—yeah, it’s close to sunset.” He pauses. “You’re just saying that because the temperatures are gonna drop.”

Gon sticks out his tongue, eyes creasing into crescents.

And Killua is quick to sweep in, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Gon’s lips.

He leans back, a soft smile gracing his features.

“Islander boy, remember?” Gon says, “I’d like to keep my fingers.”

“My hands are _frozen!”_ Gon whines, shaking his hands urgently as soon as they shut the door to their apartment.

He’s pouting petulantly, brows furrowed, lip bit in disdain—a sour edge to his expression. Killua sets down the bags of items they’d bought on the counter, taking long strides over to Gon and carefully taking his hands into his own. They _are_ cold, tips red, and an endeared huff escapes him.

“We took a little longer than sunset, sorry _corazón…”_ Killua mumbles.

Carefully, he feels the texture of Gon’s skin—calloused and rough, from years of working on the field, bitten raw from the freezing temperatures outside—and brings it up to his lips, puffing warm breaths onto it. Gon’s fingers twitch, the small moles and freckles draw Killua’s attention every time, and he admires them as he continues to breathe warmly against the pads of Gon’s fingers.

The Christmas tree is already on—the timer must’ve gone off—and so are the small lights strung about the walls. Despite not a single lamp or ceiling light being on, the room is bathed in cozy, orange hues. Mellow and gentle and calming, all at once. It lulls Killua, that they have _this._

And his eyes trail back to the fingers on Gon’s hand. He counts each individual digit in his mind with love—one, two, three, four…

Pauses at Gon’s ring finger.

Empty, and bare.

And for a moment, maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong to think about how nice it would be to see a lighter band of skin upon his ring finger, just a whisper of a hint of what’s there, should Gon take it off. It would be nice, to hold Gon’s hand and not only feel his skin, but also feel the cool metal of his ring.

_It would be really nice._

“Kil?” Gon’s voice is barely above a whisper. Soft, honey-drenched. “You okay?”

Proposing would be really, really nice.

Killua flushes despite himself, at the thought—at the prospect that he’s decided. And Gon—he has to talk it with Gon, obviously, he shouldn’t just spring it on the older man—but his expression earlier at the jewelry store, it was telling, and a giddy feeling fills Killua’s heart. It soaks into his lungs and expands within his stomach; a swarm of growing butterflies.

“Yeah,” Killua replies, “‘M okay…”

His voice trails off, deep in thought.

_He should do this._

_He should go through with it—the ring has been sitting in the drawer for a year now._

_Talk—_

_—Utter the words._

“Gon, hey,” his voice is gentle, face flushed cherry red and a warm feeling overcoming him. He makes sure Gon is looking at him, taking his hands into his own, tapping the inside of his wrist. Gon looks up at his eyes, and then down to his lips. “What were you thinking, back at the mall, with the rings?”

Killua speaks the words softly, each syllable pronounced with care.

Immediately, Gon’s cheeks heat up. His eyes widen, lashes nearly brushing against the skin of his eyelids, nose dusting pink and a blush extending down his neck. He doesn’t avert his eyes—but he’s rooted to his spot, completely thrown off by the question.

“It was nothing,” he whispers, breath tickling Killua’s skin. Gon’s fingers twitch, mumbling a sign of words themselves. “The rings were just… nice.”

“Nice?” Killua teases, a grin splaying onto his lips, lazy and just a little playful.

Slowly, he brushes the palms of his hands against Gon’s waist, and guides him forward, until Gon is flush against him in a hug. And he lets his thumb soothe the skin, running repeatedly down and up, down and up. A shaky sigh escapes Gon—the type that’s baited in thinly-veiled excitement, where he tries to contain the feeling within his small body and big heart.

Gon is wrapping his arms around Killua, sinking his weight further into Killua, and smiling.

A sigh, and a melt into the embrace.

The silence is comfortable.

Just their breathing, in the safety of their home. The quiet hum of the lights running, and the distant chatter of people out in the halls or street.

A minute dips in and out of time before Gon speaks up again.

“It would be nice,” he murmurs, “it would be _really_ nice… to be married to you.”

Killua opens his mouth to speak, but Gon continues—growing bolder.

“I’d like marriage, a lot, with you. I think—” Gon gives a chuckle, “I think we’re kinda already almost-married. We live together, and pay our bills together, and we work and share finances and have a joint email to look over stuff. We’re just, y’know, not married. Officially. On paper.”

The spiel of words make Killua’s cheeks heat up—and he’s almost a little glad he’s hugging Gon like this, where Gon can’t see the expression covering his face. Quivering lips and wide eyes—but he’s sure that Gon can hear, or feel, the erratic beating of his heart: pounding twice or even three times as fast.

He pulls back, away from Gon.

Stares into the pools of honey in his eyes.

The specks of black and gold; the long, dark lashes.

Gon is blushing, too.

They’re both flushed—they both want _this._ Want more.

The feeling is overwhelming, the _knowledge_ is overwhelming.

“Wait here,” Killua says quickly, releasing Gon from his grip, “Wait here, I’ll—I’ll be right back.”

“Kil?”

“One second!” Killua says, taking long strides to the bedroom, nearly stumbling over himself—and he has to remind himself how to walk, one foot in front of the other.

The bedroom door creaks open, and Killua doesn’t hesitate to walk right towards their dresser, opening the third drawer down, where their socks and boxers sit neatly folded. Towards the back, against the grain of the wood, in Killua’s section of balled-up socks, hides the ring.

The velvet black ring box—tucked into a corner, it’s been there for how long now? Ten, eleven months? Killua had bought it online on a whim while working in the studio: a gorgeous silver tungsten ring, inlaid with meteorite. Gon hadn’t known, because Killua had been careful—

—Taken every cautious step, between purchasing it on his own card, and sending the receipt to his personal email rather than their shared one. Made sure it was delivered to Alluka and Nanika’s apartment, and then they handed it to him, with a shit-eating grin, no less.

He grips the box and opens it.

The ring glimmers, just like it had months ago.

And the feeling rises in Killua once again—his lungs feel choked from the excitement, a trembling grin fixing itself onto his face. He snaps the box shut, and stuffs it into his back pocket. He wants to laugh. Wants to give a shaky, excited laugh—but stifles it.

When he enters the living room again, Gon is sitting on the edge of the couch, looking a little lost. His brows are furrowed, and he’s fumbling with his hands, quietly signing to himself. It makes a giggle bubble past Killua’s lips, seeing Gon like that.

_Should he sign?_

_He should probably sign this._

Gon’s head snaps up upon seeing Killua’s shadow, and his gaze is telling: he has questions. But Killua merely smiles wide, and takes a step forward into Gon’s space, sitting down beside him on the couch, taking his cheeks in his hands and running his thumb across the sky of freckles dotting Gon’s skin. And Gon’s eyes flutter shut, a dopey smile filling his lips, before Killua presses his lips to his in a chaste kiss.

Steals his breath, all at once, all over again.

Gon’s eyes open slowly, revealing the pool of honey with speckles of black, and Killua stares deeply into them. Smiles with every bit of love he can muster. Presses their foreheads together, and feels _so_ overwhelmed.

He leans a little back. Gon’s gaze falls to his hands.

And with a trembling breath, with his heart at his throat and butterflies swarming his stomach, Killua signs:

“Gon Freecss,” the sign for sunshine forms with shaky hands, “will you marry me?”

Gon’s mouth falls open.

Killua stands, and alabaster hands reach back into his pocket—his fingers probe the seam of his pants, digging through the fabric for the box, and it’s a little hard, because velvet doesn’t exactly run smoothly against the material of his pants, but he manages.

He gets on one knee.

And when the box is within his palm, he opens it; looks up at Gon.

Gon’s eyes widen, brows pushing up in shock—and his gaze runs from the box up to Killua’s eyes, and then down to the box again.

He opens his mouth. Shuts it again.

His eyes become glossy—wet and teary and every bit emotional, the hazel gleaming gold now.

Killua gives a nervous chuckle, still presenting the ring.

“I’ve had the ring for a while now, but I was waiting for the right moment,” he says, “and right now feels like the right moment.”

A strangled sob leaves Gon’s lips.

“Yes, yes—yes, yes, yes.”

The frantic signing, the sound of his voice—its pitch just a little off, because he’s so genuinely excited. He’s not focusing on getting the intonations right. He’s focused on Killua. His cheeks are rosy red, nose and ears dusted a pretty pink, tears falling freely and running wet trails down his face.

Gon pushes himself off the couch, opening his arms and enveloping Killua in a tight hug. His breath warms Killua’s skin: soft puffs and exhales.

“I didn’t think—” he swallows, trying to steady his voice, pressing his face into the space between Killua’s shoulder and neck, “I duh-didn’t think I’d ever have this. To be happy with someone I love suh-so much. I didn’t think I’d be this lucky, didn’t want to take _us_ for granted.”

A choked sound rips past Killua’s throat, and he brings his free hand up, hugging Gon back just as tightly.

“You deserve so much, Gon. You deserve so much more.”

Whether or not Gon registers the words, it’s okay. Because Killua will spend every waking moment proving those words to him; he’ll be the best he can be, to give Gon everything and more.

In the silence of the room, Gon sniffles, and several seconds tick by before Gon pulls back with a wide smile.

“On,” he says, extending his hand, “put it on.”

“Excited?” Killua teases, but he allows his fingers to skim the dorsal of Gon’s hand, feeling the soft skin, before pushing the ring onto his ring finger, and _oh,_ it fits so nicely.

Gon’s grin gets impossibly wider the moment the cool metal slips onto his ring finger.

It looks beautiful.

_Gon_ looks beautiful.

“I’m your fiancé now.”

It’s not a question. Gon is looking at Killua with such gentle eyes: big, full of love, a love-stricken smile splaying his lips.

“You are.”

And Killua swipes away the lone tear trailing down Gon’s face—running the pad of his thumb over his cheeks, clearing the wet path of tears, feeling each curve and dip and crevice of his skin; just for a second, he brushes his fingers over Gon’s long lashes just as Gon shuts his eyes and whispers a sigh.

Cups his cheeks, leans in: presses his lips against Gon’s in a drawn-out kiss.

Three… four… five.

Five seconds, and they break the kiss. Killua’s hands find their way onto Gon’s hips, and Gon wraps his arms around Killua’s neck, the lower half of his body pitched forward, while he arches his back leaning back. Feeling the brush of the ring against his nape, just momentarily, it sends goosebumps up Killua’s arms.

Gon runs his fingers through Killua’s hair, gently, softly—feels the tuffs of fluffy white, leaning forward again to press their foreheads together.

“There was something—” Gon starts suddenly, “there was something I got you, too. Uhm…”

He looks up, standing and reaching under the Christmas tree, grabbing a small gift box. It’s rectangular—wrapped in green and dotted red, tied together with twine.

Gon hands the gift to Killua.

“Before Christmas?” Killua asks, looking between Gon and the gift, “want me to open it now?”

A nod. “It’s—well, I’ll explain when you see it.”

Alabaster hands undo the twine, working to slowly rip away the wrapping paper in big chunks to avoid a mess. One tear, and then another, and another, until slowly a small jewelry box reveals itself in Killua’s sight, and Killua sucks in a breath. His heart beats erratically within the confines of his chest, and his fingers tremble.

“Gon?”

“Open it, open it.”

Lips quivering—feeling overwhelmed—Killua lifts up the cover of the box. It plops open, and he sets aside the top to stare at a gorgeous bracelet, colored with beads and a pendant in the center, kept together with a sort of leather binding. His fingers skim the cold beads, and he quietly removes it from the box, holding it in his palm.

“Gon…” Killua trails off, cheeks tinted red.

“Before Abe passed, she was teaching me to make this, for you—” Gon gives a quiet chuckle, “since I don’t remember much of Whale Island, she was trying to help me retain some of the culture. And I really wanted to make you a bracelet that had significance from Whale Island.”

Killua looks up at him with wide eyes.

Gon gives a bashful smile.

“The pendant has the symbol of eternal love etched on the front, and protection etched on the back. Each blue bead represents good health, and every black bead will take bad energy from around you to keep you safe. The bracelet is supposed to be given to your lover, someone you want to spend the rest of eternity with in good health.”

A breath escapes Killua. “Like… a marriage proposal.”

“Yeah…” Gon says quietly.

“Can you help me put it on?” Killua whispers, extending his arm out.

Gon nods, reaching forward and gently undoing the tightness of the leather, slipping it onto Killua’s wrist. The blue, black, and brown all contrast his pale skin beautifully—bright colors against a blank, milk canvas. Killua skims the pads of his fingers against the beads; he can feel every bit of love Gon indented with care.

“I love it a lot, _corazón.”_

And without wasting another second, Killua is coming forward and catching Gon’s lips into a kiss. Forward and forward, until Gon is being pushed against the cushions of the couch, arching his back and cupping Killua’s cheeks. Breathes a laugh against Killua’s lips, eyes turning into smiling crescents.

“In my next life, I want to be me, and meet you again, _cariño,_ y’know?”

Killua tangles their hands together—gripping Gon’s fingers, feeling the ring within his grasp: a beautiful reminder.

“I know.”

He presses his face into the space between Gon’s neck and shoulder, laughing and kissing the skin there. Peppers kiss after kiss after kiss, maybe a raspberry or two, too. Loves the feeling of kissing Gon, loves pressing kisses on every inch of skin. Killua’s heart thuds in his chest.

“God—I love you so much.” He mumbles against the skin.

“Hm?”

Killua laughs again, pulling away with a grin.

“I love you so much,” he repeats, repeating the words with pure adoration.

Gon’s eyes shine, giving a wet laugh.

“I love you so much too,” he says, signing the words with trembling fingers, before fitting his hand into Killua’s grasp. “We should start dinner—steak and peppermint drinks?”

Killua snorts. “What part of ‘I don’t have a stomach made of iron’ don’t you get?”

A giggle, and Gon sticks out his tongue, dragging Killua towards the kitchen regardless of circumstance. “Reach for the bags—and, it doesn’t matter. You can stomach it!”

“I really don’t think I can,” Killua says dryly, though his words hold no malice.

Gon flips on the kitchen light.

“C’mon, you’re…” he pauses.

Silence.

“Gon?” Killua asks, squeezing his hand, and Gon turns around abruptly.

“Does this make you Killua Freecss, or me Gon Zoldyck?”

Red fills Killua’s face, and his mouth falls open, a blush exploding on his cheeks.

“I—” he struggles to find the words, “I’ll take the Freecss name. I’ve… I’ve been thinking about doing that for a while, anyway.”

Gon’s smile widens impossibly bigger—cheeks bunching cutely, nose scrunching, a laugh escaping his lips: the type that’s high strung and excited, coiled with an energy threatening to burst.

“I think Killua Freecss is really fitting. I love it,” he says, turning the stove dial onto high.

Killua wraps his arms around Gon’s waist, kissing his nape, eyes zoning in on the ring on his finger.

_He can’t wait for a long future with Gon._

“I think this Christmas dinner is going to be interesting.”

Gon cranes his neck to eye Killua. “Really?”

“Yeah—Mito might smack me for not bringing this up prior, but I think she was half expecting it by now too.”

Gon giggles. “Think she’ll chase you with a broom?”

“Your mother? My soon-to-be mother-in-law?” Killua asks. “She definitely would. No hesitation.”

In the warmth of their apartment home—they share a loud laugh. In the cold December air, where snow falls against the windowsill, and colors the grass white, they find a summer in their hearts. It brightens the room and melts the bad away, until there’s nothing left.

In this life, Killua has already found his reason for being.

And he thinks, maybe Gon has too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading Ikigai! 
> 
> Hello everyone, first and foremost—Happy Holidays! This year has been an absolute turbulent thing, for others and myself, surely. And I’m glad to see it finally coming to a close, to where we can all hopefully be happier individuals the following year. Regardless of when you read this, I hope good luck and faith follow you for next year and all the following years. You are all in my thoughts and prayers :’)
> 
> This is my submission for the Killugon Holiday Themed Event, “A Gift From Me to You”! Since the theme was present, and not specific on Christmas, I wanted to do something a little different. Deaf Gon is actually something I’ve been thinking about for months now—I hold him very dear, as my own father is 100% deaf, unable to hear at all. Writing Gon to me was somewhat cathartic, and it was a joy to solidify the memories/experiences I have with my father (along with his) here in this fic. 
> 
> Killua is certainly such a sweetie—always caring for his boyfriend (fiancé!). And I wanted to take extra care in writing Gon’s character—he may be disabled, but I don’t want his disability to debilitate him or be a reason for him to not pursue something. In fact, I wanted to do the opposite, and show that despite his disability, Gon is able to achieve anything he puts his mind to. He is confident in himself, he is happy, he is a person, just like anyone else. His disability does not define him or restrict him. He embraces it as part of himself, as something that is okay. 
> 
> Overall, the general “present” of this story would probably be “spending quality time with your loved one(s)”. If you wanted to sub-group it more literally, I’d assume that an additional gift would be Killua’s proposal, and the date, in addition to Gon’s cultural gift to Killua. I’ve always thought of Killua’s love language to revolve around words of affirmation, and more importantly, acts of service. So I think he’s more likely to do things and give (more) gifts than Gon. 
> 
> With that being said, do feel free to leave kudos and comments! I look forward to reading everyone’s thoughts about the story :D I apologize for the short length of this fic, and it’s rather poor quality. Huge thank you to Liv (Quintessence) for BETA'ing this fic, bless her for putting time aside for me; Please check out her Killugon works, they're phenomenal!
> 
> I have a Twitter, so yell at me on there: @peachiinari  
> Due to popular demand, I've made a tumblr: @peachiinari


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